A Night in Baker Street
by WritingReadingLaughing
Summary: John was vaguely aware of the people surrounding him and the smoking gun in his hands but the one thing that really caught his attention was the bullet hole in the wall …a mere three inches above Sally Donovan's head. John has a nightmare during a drugs bust. Chapter 3 being rewritten. No intended slash but feel free to squint. R&R?
1. Chapter 1

**This idea has been plaguing me for ages and I just finally had to get it out. It's the classic John has a nightmare story plot but with a slight twist! Takes place before the Blind Banker. Not intended to be slash but if you want to squint a little or put on your goggles then that's fine by me. Also for the sake of the story, Lestrade and the Yard don't know that John was a soldier in Afghanistan. **

**I also have no knowledge of London except for the obvious so if you see any glaring mistakes that can be fixed, please tell me!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock**

**Hope that you enjoy!**

* * *

It was about three weeks after John had moved into Baker Street with Sherlock and he had just begun to get used to his new lifestyle. The sleepless nights chasing after criminals and making sure that Sherlock didn't get himself killed in the process. The phone calls and texts from Lestrade at random times during the day that meant that they were going out, no exceptions. The deductions that flew from the detective's mouth, coupled with insults to everyone's intelligence. The body parts and other various experiments that were, more often then not, poisonous and were laying around, next to food and plates and other things that didn't generally mix with the stuff Sherlock was interested in. Yes, John had gotten used to his new life.

His time in the Army and the depression that had followed was over and yet he still had a healthy dose of excitement and he know had a purpose to his life. His leg barely twinged and his shoulder was perfectly fine. He still got nightmares, but those had begun to fade away and when they did occur, they didn't stop him from sleeping afterwards. He was piecing his life back together with cement, and it didn't look like it was going to come crumbling down anytime soon.

It was late even by Sherlock's standards and John was tired. Exhausted was more like it. It had been a good thirty hours since the last time he had slept or ate and Sherlock had just continued on like a train. Not once had the consulting detective stopped for breath during the whole case and John hadn't felt so ready to fall asleep there and then since Afghanistan.

It had started as a call from Lestrade. Apparently there was a serial killer on the loose that was killing war veterans who had been invalidated home almost exactly one year ago and were thirty-five years old. So far there had been five deaths. All had been drowned, stripped of their clothes and shot through the heart before they were left lying on a park bench, holding a single rose in their lifeless hands.

This was the first time that Sherlock had been permitted to enter the crime scene and John had been slightly disgusted at the thought of murdering in cold blood a person who had helped to defend their country with their life. He hadn't follow Sherlock to see the veteran in order to give the dead soldier a little bit of respect in the bustling crime scene. Sherlock had come to find him not two minutes later with a lead and that was when the chase had begun. Their killer had been slightly careless and had dropped a business card with the name and address of the most recent victim. Sherlock had immediately gone off to find the business and John had tagged dutifully behind. They found their man and very nearly caught him but he had escaped. The following pursuit had consisted of mad scrambles up walls and flying leaps across alley ways between buildings. In the end, their suspect had gotten away and Sherlock had finally listened to John and had gone home.

There, they were confronted with Lestrade and one of his infamous 'drugs busts'. Sherlock and Lestrade had gotten into a heated argument ending in Sherlock finally giving in and showing them the business card. The Detective Inspector immediately handed it over to forensics and Anderson who had volunteered once again to get on Sherlock's nerves. The flat was once again filled with insults and raised voices and John just tried to ignore it. He couldn't go up to his room, who knew what kind of trouble Sherlock would get up to if John wasn't around to calm him down. The couch wasn't an ideal place, but it was better then the floor and he would be close at hand if he was needed.

John shared a look with Lestrade who looked just as tired as he was and plunked himself down on the couch. Swinging his legs on to the settee, John shifted slightly and felt the gun that Sherlock always kept under the pillows dig into his back. He shifted again. Once in a reasonably comfortable position, John could already feel his eyelids drooping and the sounds of the police force being drowned out by the need to sleep. Before he knew it, the army doctor was out.

* * *

Gunshots. All around him, there were people shooting, scrambling, dying. There were explosions echoing in his ears and the shouts of medic rung out from all different directions. A soldier standing next to him fell to his knees clutching at his chest, mouth open in a scream that John couldn't hear over everyone else's. John swiftly followed, hands already opening his medical bag and pulling out bandages as he tried to stem the blood pouring out of the soldier's side. The man's face was already deathly pale and John knew deep inside that he was going to live. The bullet had probably punctured several vital organs and John could do nothing but to end his life as quickly as possible. Pulling out his gun, John made sure it was loaded before firing a shot at his head. The man was killed instantly. John looked away for a moment before whispering an apology to the man he had pretty much murdered.

A grenade blew up not far from where John was crouching and the doctor immediately took stock of his surroundings. Someone shouted out for help and without a second thought, John began to make his way to the fallen soldier's side. He was almost there when he felt something thud in his leg. He looked down to assess the damage and then the pain hit him. He hadn't felt such pain since he had fallen out of a tree when he was seven and broken his arm. The waves of mind blowing agony rolled up his nerves and he barely held himself together. Fighting back tears of pain, John began to fumble with the dressing as he tried to fix up his leg as best he could so that he could get back and help others. He glanced up to make sure that he wasn't in immediate danger and seeing nothing, John turned back to the heavily bleeding gun wound.

For the second time that day, the doctor was taken by surprise. He saw the glint of silver out of the corner of his eye and turned just slightly. Pain filled his senses once again, this time it came from far closer to his head and heart. John wanted so badly to move his left hand to signal for assistance and have someone chase away the unbearable pain that echoed through his leg and shoulder. John knew that there was little chance that he would live and even if he did, he would be sent home. Back to dreary London.

The gun from which the two shots had been fired was moving and John was suddenly filled with a desire to kill the man that was responsible for the ending of his career. Removing his right hand from where he was pressing it down on his leg, John reached into his jacket and pulled out his gun. He cocked it and then aimed it at where the man was still crouching. His hand was unsteady and his vision was blurring, but John felt confident enough with his aim.

He pulled the trigger…

* * *

John bolted upright, breathing irregular and his vision swimming. He was vaguely aware of the people surrounding him and the smoking gun in his hands but the one thing that really caught his attention was the bullet hole in the wall…

…a mere three inches above Sally Donavan's head.

* * *

**Hope that you're all intrigued enough to continue reading when the next chapter appears. In the meantime, please REVIEW!**


	2. Chapter 2

**This idea has been plaguing me for ages and I just finally had to get it out. It's the classic John has a nightmare story plot but with a slight twist! Takes place before the Blind Banker. Not intended to be slash but if you want to squint a little or put on your goggles then that's fine by me. Also for the sake of the story, Lestrade and the Yard don't know that John was a soldier in Afghanistan. **

**I also have no knowledge of London except for the obvious so if you see any glaring mistakes that can be fixed, please tell me!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock**

**Hope that you enjoy!**

* * *

Sherlock had been having a good day. Lestrade had called with a particularly interesting case and the killer had at least been smart about not leaving many clues as to who he was. The chase had been exciting to say the least and John had kept up this time. In the end though, Sherlock had to admit that he could do with a few minutes sleep and maybe a cup of tea.

As they had rounded the corner and come face to face with about four police cars, Sherlock knew that the cup of tea would have to wait. His rather good mood faded quickly and was replaced with annoyance as he ran up the stairs three at a time and burst in to the room. Lestrade was sitting comfortably in the chair that he had come to call his own when doing a 'drugs bust'. It did little to improve his mood.

The Detective Inspector had also brought with him the most irritating police officers and Sherlock could just feel a heated argument coming along that he really didn't want. He took part in it anyway.

John was relatively quiet and Sherlock vaguely registered that perhaps he had slightly overdone how long the chase had gone on without a break. He deleted the information immediately afterwards. John could cope and would cope. He'd been through things that were many times worse than this. His mind drifted back to where Lestrade was shouting at him, coupled with the usual insults from Anderson and Donovan. Sherlock waved them off and continued to try and figure out where the stupid criminal had gone and who would be his next target.

There was nothing that seemed strange about the man the Consulting Detective had almost caught. Around middle height, maybe slightly shorter than normal, skinny, dressed all in a grey that was similar to John's favourite jumper. Nothing except the eyes had been visible and they were just an ordinary blue. Could ran pretty fast and was stronger than he looked. He wore the same deodorant that John did and was roughly the same size…

The noise from the police investigation was getting to a point where Sherlock just couldn't concentrate. Not bothering to ask them to shut up, Sherlock just walked out, ignoring the protests from Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson's prattling about him going to catch a cold if he didn't wear a coat. Sherlock closed the door firmly in her face.

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock let the his thoughts wander. Who was this man? Probably someone who had been in the forces or was part of highly trained gang. The victims had been killed efficiently. No mess, no unnecessary procedures. The killer was one who wanted to get it over with and not get his hands too dirty. Interesting… All of the people that had been killed had drowned then probably for a bit of flair, shot. The most likely place to drown was somewhere along the Thames. Everyone had been found in different parks in the city but were all within a short drive of the river. Sherlock could work with that.

Sherlock still had to see pictures of the other deaths and had no description of the bodies. Perhaps there was a link that way. He would have to see the photographs from Lestrade.

The detective checked his watch and was mildly surprised that he had left the flat almost half an hour ago. It was now nearly one in the morning. Deciding that Lestrade had been given enough time to do a thorough search of the house, Sherlock let himself back in, closing the door behind him. He began to walk calmly back up the stairs when he heard some sort of strangled shout, as almost as if there was someone being attacked and strangled. Sherlock stood frozen, one foot almost touching the next step. He waited until he heard it again before putting it down again and walking the last nine stairs.

Deciding not to go through the living room door, Sherlock opened the one to the kitchen. Everyone was standing still, all looking at where Lestrade and a couple other police officers were standing by the couch. A whimper this time. At last everything clicked for Sherlock, both the case and what was happening at the moment. Sherlock wanted to be clever and tell everyone about the case and yet John was more important at the moment.

John was suffering from one of his nightmares, one, that by the sounds of it, were pretty bad. The dead soldier that had been part of the case had brought back painful memories of Afghanistan and it was no wonder that John was suffering now.

Sherlock didn't really know what to do. He had witnessed one of John's nightmares first hand but the former army doctor had always woken up before he had done anything. He knew the violin helped as he had played it a couple of times after John's nightmares and when he would come downstairs, eyes slightly bloodshot, searching for a cup of tea to calm his nerves. Sherlock wasn't sure if it would work now, when John wasn't conscious yet but decided that it was worth a try.

He entered the living room, making straight for his violin that was laying precariously on the edge of his desk. Picking it up and resting it comfortably between his neck and shoulder, Sherlock raised the bow and was about to start on a piece written by Beethoven when a flicker of movement caught his attention.

John's right hand was shifting between the cushions of the sofa and Sherlock could see as the muscles in his arm clenched as the doctor's hand closed around something. The detective suddenly realized the perhaps leaving his gun there under the cushions wasn't the best place and dropped his violin ever so slightly. John had lifted the gun until the handle was clearly visible, his fingers on the trigger and Sherlock was surprised that none of the police officers had seen it yet, as it was so obvious.

"Lestrade!" Without thinking, Sherlock dropped his precious instrument and launched himself at the Detective Inspector, shoving him against the wall as the single gunshot echoed through the room. Sherlock noticed that Sally had been walking directly behind him as John had pulled the trigger and immediately dismissed the data. It wasn't important. The fact that John was finally awake and staring around in horror was. Without thinking, Sherlock put himself in the line of fire and stared hard at the one person who could actually live with him.

"John." Those haunted eyes just stared back up at him in despair.

* * *

**Still hope that everyone is intrigued enough to read the next and final chapter! Should be up very soon! Please REVIEW!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Yes this used to be a chapter, but I decided to take it down after Lady Sam Mallory pointed out some things that I had never thought of to improve this. I have no idea when the next chapter will appear. It might be tomorrow or it might be in a month, who knows? Anyway, it is in the process of being re-written and I hope that when it does get posted that you will all enjoy the changes. **

**WritingReadingLaughing**


	4. Chapter 4

**This idea has been plaguing me for ages and I just finally had to get it out. It's the classic John has a nightmare story plot but with a slight twist! Takes place before the Blind Banker. Not intended to be slash but if you want to squint a little or put on your goggles then that's fine by me. Also for the sake of the story, Lestrade and the Yard don't know that John was a soldier in Afghanistan. **

**I also have no knowledge of London except for the obvious so if you see any glaring mistakes that can be fixed, please tell me!**

**By the way, the names in this chapter were off the top of my head and so I mean no offence if they actually are your names.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock**

**Hope that you enjoy!**

**I re-wrote chapter 3 because there were a couple of people who suggested some ideas that would make it better.**

* * *

Lestrade wasn't sure what was happening. John had fallen asleep, Sherlock had left, John had begun whimper and shout and writher on the couch, Sherlock had come back, John had fired a shot with a gun that on one knew had existed, Sherlock had tackled him out of the way and now the two of them were just staring at each other. Sally was clearly shaken at almost having died and Lestrade sent her outside with another officer to help her home.

The Detective Inspector ran a hand through his greying hair and decided to do what his job required of him. He ordered everyone to leave the room and pulled up a chair so that he could sit next to the obviously traumatized John. The two flat mates were still staring at each other, gazes locked as a silent message seemed to be playing between them. John broke the eye contact first by suddenly beginning to shiver and curling up so that as little of him was exposed and visible.

"Cold." It was whispered so softly that Lestrade nearly missed it but Sherlock just nodded at what he had been told and placed a gentle hand on John's knee.

"I'm sure it is, John. I'm sure it is. London will always be wet and dreary compared to the Middle East." Lestrade started a little at the obvious compassion that Sherlock was showing and that he had never seen before.

He was going to question the man when Sherlock immediately sprang in to action, walking calmly out the door and returning not a few moments later carrying a quilt. Lestrade could see a little flame start up in John's eyes at Sherlock's act and it remained there, never wavering as Sherlock draped the handmade quilt over the trembling soldier's body and placed a small object in his hand. He then returned to where he had dropped his violin and bow and began to gently fine tune it, plucking at the strings until he was satisfied and then began to play. It wasn't the usual screeching that normally happened when Sherlock played, but a beautiful piece of classical music that Lestrade recognized as Bach.

It went on for what felt like eons. The low and the high notes blending in perfectly as the consulting detective pranced around the room, caught up in what he was playing. Lestrade found that he was nodding off and smacked himself hard before he fell asleep. Sherlock finished with a flourish and Lestrade sat up a little straighter, finally thinking that now was a good time to question the other man.

"He suffers from PTSD." Sherlock answered the unspoken question nodding at the now peacefully sleeping John. "Was a doctor in Afghanistan and on to his forth tour of the area when he was invalidated home about six months back." Lestrade was surprised. John seemed like an ordinary guy with no distinguishable features about him that would suggest time in the forces. Then again, why should John look different just because he had chosen a dangerous profession.

Lestrade glanced at the object in the doctor's hands and jumped back in surprise when he saw the two medals laying the man's out stretched palm. He immediately recognized the silver George Cross but couldn't place the second.

"George Cross (1) and Royal Red Cross (2) in case you're wondering." Sherlock's voice picked up again. Lestrade nodded before standing up and turning to face the consulting detective again.

"Do you have any details about the case?" He asked, changing the subject.

"Yes and no. I know who the next victim will be and where the others were drowned. I need to see the photos from the other crime scenes. I'll text you later. Now please remove yourself and everyone else from these premises or I will force you to comply."

"Sherlock…"

"I said _please_, Detective Inspector." Sherlock's voice was cold and calculating, but Lestrade didn't miss the quick glance at the couch and the way his eyes had softened ever so slightly. Lestrade nodded his consent.

"Very well Sherlock, but I expect you at the Yard tomorrow." Lestrade looked at his watch and realized that he had been at Baker Street for nearly three hours and that it was past two o'clock in the morning. "Make that later today." Then ignoring whatever Sherlock was going to say, he began to dish out orders to his team. They were packed up and ready to go in record time.

Lestrade shrugged his raincoat on pulled up the collar so that the bottom half of his face was hidden. Sherlock opened the door for him in an unusually polite way and would have closed it immediately after the DI had stepped out if it wasn't for the foot wedged in between the door and the frame. Lestrade saw the eyebrows start to rise at the action.

"I will leave Sherlock, but there is one thing that I would like to know right now. Who is the next victim?" Lestrade saw the detective open his mouth and by the look on his face, he immediately added. "I know that you probably won't care about them and will just continue on as if nothing will happen but if I can save someone's life then I will. Who is it?" Sherlock seemed to process what he had said before nudging the DI's foot out of the way.

"The victim is going to be John." Sherlock then promptly slammed the heavy black door in the officer's face.

Lestrade was still attempting to process what he had just been told when Anderson tapped him on the shoulder and opened his mouth, a thunderous expression on his face.

"Excuse me, Detective Inspector but after what happen…" Lestrade silenced him with a wave of his hand.

"I'll tell you tomorrow Anderson. Right now, we're all going to go home and get a good night's sleep and figure it out later." Anderson still didn't look too happy, but didn't disagree. He was probably upset at the fact that Sally had nearly been killed. The DI looked back at the bronze 221B on the door was tempted to knock on it and ask Sherlock about what he had just said, but decided against it. He would see the consulting detective soon and could ask him then. Perhaps he should leave a couple officers to watch over the flat but one glance at everyone present told him that no one would be best pleased at the order. Anyway, Sherlock would probably realize what he had done and not be best pleased.

Sighing, Lestrade decided just to head on home, have a shower and collapse in to bed for a few hours. He would deal with Sherlock later.

* * *

Lestrade lay with his head on his desk, wavering between consciousness and unconsciousness. He hadn't gotten a very good night's sleep last night, his mind had been whirling around what Sherlock had said. After a couple hours of restless turning and tossing, the DI had finally fallen asleep, only to woken up not an hour later by his alarm clock. His eyes had turned blearily to look at the clock. Somewhere in the back of his mind, something was telling him to just stay in bed and call in sick, but then again, Sherlock was coming in and no one else at the Yard could tolerate him.

That was why, at this moment, Lestrade was hoping that no one would walk in and find him sleeping on the job. He was just falling into a deeper sleep when the door opened and two hands slammed themselves down on the desk. Lestrade immediately sat up, blinking away the sleep and trying to look as alert as possible. Sherlock was staring down at him, a confused look on his face and Lestrade wondered whether he had gotten any sleep at all. Probably not, judging by the slightly darker rings under his eyes.

"I need those photos Lestrade. You forgot last night." Lestrade processed this information with less speed then he normally would. When he finally realized what Sherlock was requesting, he tiredly opened a folder on his desk and shoved the papers towards the consulting detective who by then had taken a seat.

"How's John?" Lestrade asked.

"Fine, perfectly fine."

"Hmmm." Was all Lestrade said before returning his head to his desk with a thump. After only a few seconds, Sherlock raised his voice again.

"I assume that there isn't anything in common with all the victims."

"Not that we know of."

"Wrong! They were all in the army, all from the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers, all stationed in Afghanistan and all relatively the same height." Lestrade had no idea where this was leading to. The impatience in Sherlock's voice was evident. "Really, you are incompetent! Don't you see? John's unit was the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers, the man that we chased yesterday resembled John, but that was a disguise. He disguised himself to look a bit like John to tell him that he was going to die! The killer is targeting old war comrades. John probably knows the victims as old army friends! I need to bring him in." Sherlock whipped out his mobile and began to press the buttons quicker than Lestrade could ever do.

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" The DI asked, referring to last night's incident.

"He's not some glass vase, Lestrade. He's not as fragile as some believe. He can handle this."

"You sure?"

"Yes! Now can you please get on with whatever you were doing when I walked in." Lestrade sighed and decided against arguing. Standing up and grabbing his mug from the corner of the desk, Lestrade opened the door and made his way to the coffee machine down the hall. He took his time in returning, letting the warmth of the caffeine filled drink wake him up until he was slightly more alert then before. When he pushed open the door that led from the corridor to his police department, Anderson was there, arguing with Sherlock. Sherlock had obviously gotten bored with waiting for Lestrade to return

"…and then Sally nearly got shot! Trouble follows you everywhere! I wonder about that doctor's sanity if he is able to live around a freak like you! You know what, I think that he's just the same as you. A bloody freak!" Lestrade knew that Anderson had gone too far. Sherlock could withstand the insults to himself and not take any noticeable offence, but Lestrade had seen what John meant to Sherlock. The doctor had actually been willing to live with the detective and had seemed to wriggle his way so far into what was left of Sherlock's heavily guarded heart that Sherlock was becoming slightly protective of the man.

Before Lestrade could do anything, Sherlock had given Anderson a swift right hook that had caught the man just under his left eye and on the side of his nose. Lestrade just watched as the consulting detective grabbed one of those hand disinfectants from his desk and began to clean his hands, deliberately ignoring the forensics worker that was rolling around on the floor, clutching a bloody nose.

"Ah… Detective Inspector. Please remove this piece of filth from my presence before he does any more harm to himself." He dropped the small square piece of cloth in to the rubbish bin and sat down in Lestrade's chair, hands together and resting under his chin. Lestrade could only nod his agreement and went to help Anderson up. The officer leaned heavily on him and Lestrade realized that he weighed more than he had first expected.

Heads turned as the passed and someone handed Anderson a couple of tissues that he quickly pressed to his still heavily bleeding nose. Lestrade managed to get someone to take over and get Anderson to the staff room without too much difficulty and headed back to his office.

Sherlock hadn't moved since Lestrade had left and the Inspector was forced to sit in one of those terribly uncomfortable chairs to wait for the army doctor. He didn't have to wait long.

There was a tentative knock on the door and it opened just enough for John to stick his head through. Lestrade noted that his eyes were still bloodshot and that they were highlighted by dark rings underneath.

"John, come in." Lestrade invited and his words brought an immediate reaction from Sherlock, who sat up and tossed over the folder with the photos. John took the other chair and looked over to the DI.

"Was that Anderson with the bloody nose?"

"Yes." Lestrade was beaten to the answer by Sherlock. John just sighed and didn't reply as he took the folder and began rifling through the papers. He suddenly stopped and pulled one out. He glanced up and Lestrade noticed the eye contact between the detective and the doctor. John slowly put down the paper on the desk and Lestrade recognized it as the first victim.

"Alex Smith. We were mates in Afghanistan." He looked at the next couple of photos and placed them down next to Smith.

"Karl Woodridge, Christopher Wells and Mark Jones." He repeated his actions for the last photo and his eyes widened slightly. He pushed the image over to Lestrade.

"That's Jackson Carter. He was the last person that I successfully treated in Afghanistan before I got shot. He was also the one person in my regiment that was shorter than me. We got along well." John trailed off and the light in his eyes grew dim. Lestrade was once again struck with the thought that maybe bringing John in to look over the images of dead comrades wasn't the best idea, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

Sherlock snapped his fingers in front of John's face and the man blinked a couple times before coming back. He coughed awkwardly and nodded to show that he was alright. Lestrade raised an eyebrow and was about to say something but was beaten to it by Sherlock.

"What do they all have in common with you, John? I have a pretty good idea about what it could be but I need a confirmation." John sighed and began to point at the figures on the papers that had all the physical information on them.

"I'm five foot two, and in the army everyone is generally about five foot eight. The shorter men are the ones that get picked on the most so myself and a couple of mates decided to make a group that included everyone that was less than five foot five. We got along well and every now and then we would allow another member to join our little club. We gained quite a fierce reputation through some face-offs with the taller soldiers and soon everyone knew about us. The army sometimes ordered us to do undercover jobs because we were smaller and so harder to detect by the enemy. Eventually though, the battles caught up with us and most of our members were killed. Soon afterwards I was sent home along with the rest of our gang and here I am. I tried to keep in contact but eventually we drifted apart."

John finished and looked back to where Sherlock was sitting. His lips were pulled up in to that smug smile that meant that he had solved the puzzle and Lestrade was dreading what he would do next. Suddenly the Consulting Detective jumped to his feet and grabbed John by the wrist.

"Come on John, our friendly murderer is going to make a move soon and we need everything to be perfect for when he arrives…"

* * *

**So I finally got around to rewriting the third chapter. I have to say that it's not my best by any means but I decided to post it anyways. The next chapter might be a little while but I'll try to get it up as soon as possible. In the meantime, please REVIEW!**


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